Brother
by marshmallow jam
Summary: Giacomo 'Jack' Teague had never known his Father, and after Growing up in the heart of piracy he had never wanted to. Soon Jack will find himself on a journey with a blacksmith and a pirate, finding family along the way.
1. Malestrom Birth

An eerie fog settled over the shores of shipwreck cove. The air was dense and thick with moisture that stroked an odd sort of chill over the skin. As the winds picked up rain began to hail down, slapping against skin and biting like ice. The rain increased and showed no sign of letting up, thunder rumbled in the storm clouds and the seas rose and fell quickly and increasingly larger.  
A typhoon raged the normally calm waters of the cove, only someone insane would brave the perilous waters. Around an hour into the treacherous tempest, a ship came into the cove. After a few near misses, the cries of instructions in between crew members was replaced with screams of pain followed much later, by the cry of an infant.

It took another three and a half hours for the ship to actually dock, three times what it would normally take, and when it did a swarm of crew mates carried a woman from the ship in her arms was a small bundle wrapped in bloodstained cloth. The woman herself wan drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, her light brown hair plastering her face, slick with sweat and rain she mumbled incoherent nothings before passing out.

The infirmary was amuck with chaos, the woman was propped up and several concoctions were poured down her throat, sweat was wiped from her brow and she was wrapped in fresh clothes and thick blankets. By her bedside sat a cradle and within it a small, now-clean, baby wrapped in cloth and blankets. The child, unlike its mother, had a dusting of almost-black brown hair and a slightly more tanned skin than hers. The infant's eyes were a startling blue with a hint of hazel around the edges of the iris.

The child slept through the entire hurricane, and only awakened when the light of morning brought with it calm seas and soft winds. The mother awoke to her child's cries she sighed and lifted him up, tears stinging her eyes at the sight of an all too familiar face that did not bare any resemblance to her own.

The mother stayed in the cove for the next week she was healing well and her baby was healthy enough, but she had yet to name the boy. She walked, with only a little difficulty, to a small section of the cove that was reserved for someone she had not seen in over seven years. She held back tears as the little boy shuffled his position in her arms, reaching out a shaking had she pushed open the door.  
Inside the expensively decorated room sat an odd sort of man, with dark eyes and hair holding a Spanish looking guitar. He simply raised an eyebrow at her appearance then waved a hand, gesturing for her to sit down.

"Belle" He acknowledged

She gritted her teeth at the name but continued with what she intended to say. "You have to take him."

"Do I?" was the response, along with a raised eyebrow "I don't owe you anything, what business is it of mine what you do with your child?"

Her eyes shone with tears "He's not Bill's." She sobbed.

The man's eyes widened in shock which then gave way to anger "You want to get rid of your own child? Just because he is not your husbands?"

"I already have one son!" she said bitterly "_he _looks just like Bill, do you think if I turn up with this one people won't notice that he looks nothing like either of us!" she started to sob "I can't risk losing Bill, even with my servant's wage it wouldn't be enough to look after _both_ of my sons! Bill provides for us and without the money he sends back for us we would be penniless! And I can't...." she whispered the last part "I can't risk falling in love with _him _again...he's to unreliable I never know where I stand...I" she swallowed the lump in her throat and cleared it with a cough "I love Bill." She stated firmly although it was unclear just who she was saying that to.

The man seemed to understand completely "he was always an unruly one, Bell, even as a child. No doubt this one will be much the same." He waved a hand towards the child, who was now awake and staring at the two of them with a wide eyed curiosity. "I take it you won't be coming back again?" the child was handed to him.

Bell wiped her eyes "no, I can't. If I do then I will be tempted to take him with me."

"Any names picked out?"

She shook her head "It's better that I don't get too attached to him, the closer I get, the harder it will be to leave without him."

"Would that really be such a bad thing?" the man shifted the child, just as it was about to cry, with the air of a man who had already had children.

"I told you!" she snapped "I told you, if I took him it would cause to many problems, at least if he grows up here he will always have food in his belly and a roof over his head."

With one last glance and the child, the mother left. An ache tore at her heart as she watched form the retreating ship as the cove became smaller and smaller upon the horizon. She swore that one day, when her young William grew up, when he didn't need to be looked after anymore, she would tell him of his half brother, she would be willing to bear the brunt of scorn and anger from both her son and husband for what she had done but she knew that one day she would tell them both, if only so that she could see the boy again.

_Five years later... _

A squeal of childish laughter exploded within the corridors of the fortress, followed by the thud of little feet running. Five year old Jack Teague thudded towards the dining room his hands pushing up the too-big hat that couldn't be anyone's but Captain Teague's, just so he could see. A devilish grin was plastered upon his youthful features as he peered around the room as if looking for someone when suddenly he was hoisted into the air and the hat was snatched from his head. He giggled in delight and grinned at his grandfather, hugging him tightly. _________________________________________________________________________________ 

Ten year old William Turner II watched with tear-filled eyes and his mother's coffin was lowered into the earth. His father hadn't been home in six and a half years and the letters became more and more infrequent and after he had been sent a gold medallion as a late ninth birthday present, they had stopped completely. Will had hoped that the many letters that he had sent might have somehow reached the man, although he knew in his heart that they never did. So here he stood the dreary sea-side village of Emsworth burring his mother before her time. Arabella Turner was a proud woman she was loving and strong, but five years ago she had left for around two months Will had stayed with a friend of hers while she had left. He never knew why, only that when she returned her smiles were strained, she would cry whenever she thought he wasn't looking, sometimes he would wake in the night, and hear her calling out for someone in her sleep, she had become sick. For years Arabella coped with her illness, until a few months ago when she had finally succumbed. There had been no thunderclouds of rivers of mist, rain and sorrow; rather it was a warm summer's day. The birds had been singing and there were no clouds in sight. Arabella had smiled at him and whispered that she loved him and that she was sorry, before her eyes glazed over and became sightless, the smile still set upon her face.

After the funeral will ran back to his childhood home and cried, through his tears he rummaged though his mothers things desperate for anything that might lead him to his father. Instead he found a velvet-lined box with dozens upon dozens of letters written in his mother's hand. They bore no addressing name but were addressed simply to 'My little One'. At first he had thought that it was about himself but as he read more he realised just how terribly wrong he was.  
She had lied. His mother had another child, a child born of adultery, there was no mention of the father but it certainly was not his own. In a fit of rage will had thrown the box across the room, jealous for the first time that he had to share the affections of his mother, that there was no box of letters for him only this bastard child.

Captain Teague had watched painfully as his grandson grew up. The resemblance to the child's father was uncanny, and he couldn't help but be reminded of his son growing up. Jack was already six years old; he grew up so quickly it seemed that barely any time had passed since his mother had left him here. It took a while but the news of Arabella's death finally reached his ears. He sat the boy down and told him gently that his mother had passed on.

Jack looked up at him with misty eyes and sniffled "but I never even met her! That's not fair!"

Teague simply held the boy tighter and told him that he would meet her one day, and that she was at peace.

William Turner II stood on the deck of the ship that would take him to the Caribbean, the last place his father had been, he had barely any possessions but the clothes on his back and the change in his pocket, but he knew that there was no life for him in England anymore, he had to find his father.


	2. Fortunes Far From Home

It was little over three months before his sixth birthday that young Giacomo 'Jack' Teague learned about death. Jack had always been a very curious child, before he could walk he would crawl out of his cradle and shuffle his way around the corridors of the fortress made of wood, his hazel eyes wide as if soaking up all the sights he could see.  
When he was only three years old and just beginning to form the start of coherent sentences, he would bludgeon his grandfather with questions about anything and everything, in the way that only a child- truly believing that their guardians hold the secrets of the world- could.

So when Jack came upon a rather odd looking man, lying on the dinning table with his face in his food and a sword in his back, it's no surprise that instead of screaming, the young boy walked forwards and poked the man. Upon finding that the odd looking man did not move or react to the poke, Giacomo did the only logical thing to do- he poked the odd man again.

Captain James Teague was a fair tempered man, and he liked to think that after more than thirty years as a sailor, there wasn't much that could surprise him. But when he came upon his grandson poking a corpse he was justifiably startled.

"Jack!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide "what are you doin' boy!"

Little Giacomo just stared up at his grandfather; hazel eyes glinting with the innocence of a child caught trying to sneak sweets before supper.

"He looks funny." He said simply. James proceeded to sit the boy down, and explain death to him.

Hazel green eyes brined with unshed tears "Mummy's dead, isn't she." The boy's word held such certainty that it broke the older man's heart.

"Yes." He spoke softly as if by some miracle the word –if spoken softly- would hurt less. But it didn't. That one word of conformation hurt more than all of the troubles and woes of the world, more than bruises, cuts or gunshots. That one word tore the boy's heart open.

James Teague held his grandson while he cried, rubbing soothing circles on his small back and muttering falsehoods of assurance, saying that everything would be alright.

William Turner II had been on the merchant ship for almost a month now, he paid what little he could and worked in the mean time, he would scrub the wooden floors, the pots and pans and even the clothes of the crew. Every person he talked to he would ask about his father, to see if they knew anyone by his name or appearance. No one ever did. But will kept working, he was determined to reach the Caribbean, where his father had last been.

He knew that when he got to the Caribbean he would probably not find his father, but he had to try.

As the sun set on the horizon, the ten year old boy sat on his knees and scrubbed the deck of the ship with weary hands, he couldn't rest until the deck was clear. As he went through the repetitive motions of scrubbing, his mind wandered back to the letters his mother had written to his half-brother, and he wished that he hadn't have burnt them in a fit of rage. Although he was still horribly jealous and angry, his brother would only be five or six years old, it wasn't his fault that he was a bastard child. The more Will thought about the boy, the guiltier he felt, he had no other family, and from what he could tell the boy's father didn't even know about him. Will on the other hand had had a mother for ten years; his brother had never had a mother (as far as he knew) or a father, and for a short while Will had possessed both. His mother hadn't even named the boy, leaving that to the boy's grandfather. Will often thought of possible names for his brother but none came to mind that he could imagine the boy truly possessing.

Will worked through the night, intent of cleaning the whole deck; it was growing close to morning when an unnatural fog began to rise, bringing with it a sense of unease and discomfort like some sort of omen. In the distance a silhouette of a ship grew closer, the unmistakeable sight of the Jolly Rodger flying high and glinting in the lamplight.

Will called his weary body to attention and ran as fast as he could to the warning bell and shook the rope franticly.

The deck began to fill with all of the able bodied men amongst the crew and passengers, held in their sleepy hands were rusty swords and the odd pistol, hardly a defence against pirates. Luck, it seemed, had an ironic sense of humour; the only merchant vessel that had not prepared against pirate attacks was the one targeted.

Exhausted and sleep deprived, Will found a rusty blade pressed into his fist and the murmur of "Give 'em hell, lad", before finding himself very much on his own.

Swarms of the piratical invaders swung onto the ship, like barbarian hordes brutally cutting down anyone and everyone in their path will found himself hiding behind a barrel in the cargo hold, the blade long ago abandoned, wrapping his arms around his chest and silently uttering every prayer that he knew for the pirates to go away. Women were dragged to the deck and had their jewellery ripped off of their person before being tossed into the icy depths of the sea. The screams of pain and rings of gunshots and clashes of metal ebbed away like the changing tides. Will's ears were met with silence; he opened his eyes and saw nothing but the dark inside of the ship, the candles having burned out long ago. Before he even knew what had happened a tremendous force hit him and he found himself underwater, and swimming with all his might to reach the surface. He took a large gulp of air and franticly wiped his eyes free of salt. The ship was gone, leaving only debris in its wake. There was the distinctive scent of gunpowder and smoke lingering in the salty air. Unmoving bodies floated aimlessly in the water all traces of pain and discontent faded from their faces, Will shivered and turned his face away. He began to tire and by a stroke of luck he managed to find a floating part of the ship from what he believed to be a part of the deck he had previously been scrubbing. Too tired to see the irony Will clambered upon the driftwood and laid his head down, his eyes closed and unshed tears brimmed, mixing with the cold salty water on his skin.

Will was vaguely aware of the dull hum of voices around him, gradually pulling him from his unconscious state; he sat up violently and with a gasp when he felt the last connection he had to his father, being pulled from his shirt. His eyes bet the almost-black ones of a beautiful girl, from the way her hair was so perfectly curled and the expensive dress she wore, he knew immediately that she must have been from the upper class.

"It's okay." She told him swallowing her gasp "My name is Elizabeth Swan."

He blinked the salt from his eyes and managed to stutter "W-Will Turner."

She smiled kindly at him "I'm watching over you, Will."

The sheer sincerity of her words warmed him slightly, and he lay back and fell into sleep once more.

Giacomo had just turned seven when his grandfather had presented him with his first real sword. Since he could walk, Jack had been trained to fight. After six years of learning he had finally proven himself capable enough to wield a real sword.

"Remember Giacomo." His grandfather told him "this is not a toy; don't go waving it around willy-nilly just because you think it's clever. This is dangerous." His grandfather never called him Giacomo, only ever Jack or Jackie, so when he used it he knew that it was serious.

"I know." Jack replied.

His lesson's had increased in number and vivaciousness after receiving that sword, he quickly became extremely competent. It was when he had found himself with dirt in his eyes and a gun to his head that Jack had learnt that fighting dirty was a clever thing to do.

"Fairness gets you killed boy." Captain Teague had told him "no pirate ever got anywhere by fightin' fair."

Jack just scowled and grumbled huffily before getting up off of the floor and sweeping the older man's legs out from under him.

Will had been in Port Royal for two years now. He had an apprenticeship with the blacksmith Mr. Ronald Brown, and he saw Elizabeth (Miss Swan, he mentally corrected) quite often. He heard no word of his father, and frankly, he had given up hope of finding the man. Every night will would borrow the swords that he and Mr. Brown had made and would practise with them his mind fixed on the pirate raid, how inhuman those _men_ were, how he had done nothing to help those people and had run like a coward. He told himself that he would never again run helpless and terrified when people were left behind to fend for themselves.

James Teague had walked into the bedroom of his twelve year old grandson to find it devoid of both the boy and his things. He had left. Despite the ache in his chest and the disappearance of the boy he wasn't surprised. After all; the boy's father had done the same thing. For almost a year Giacomo had been fidgety, he couldn't sit still. Sometimes he would run form the fort down to the bay and just wait there for hours. James knew that this day would come, the boy had caught the Teague wanderlust- that ache for adventure. He had taken a chance and left. The captain couldn't have been more proud.

Seventeen year old William Turner II had completed his apprenticeship and was now running the entire blacksmith's shop; Mr. Brown's wife had died a year previously, and now all the man would do was down copious amounts of liquor and force himself into a drunken stupor.

Despite the obvious lack of physical labour on the old man's part he still gained the credit for the work of his former apprentice, after all a student outshining the proprietor of the business was hardly proper.

Will was completely smitten with the young Miss Swan, his eyes would follow her petite frame whenever they were lucky enough to be graced with her visage, and he would smile at her and watch her as she left. He wasn't a stupid boy, he knew that his feelings towards her could never be reciprocated but he still held a glimmer of hope that she did.

Giacomo had left Shipwreck Cove with a fair amount of money earned from his impeccable ability to cheat magnificently in high-stakes games of 'Brag'. He travelled everywhere and anywhere stowing away on random ships and sometimes even paying a passenger's fare. Jack was very good at sneaking and hiding and had, so far, never been caught. He had spent a week or so in Nassau and after that he had travelled as far as Venice, only stopping to change ships.

He wandered the streets of Venice dressed in clothes that were worn and world weary, a stark comparison to the fancy silks and embroidered coats that were so popular. He was wandering back from one of the shadier taverns of Venice a content smile on his face as he pocketed his 'Brag' winnings when he walked into a slender man of a tall stature, dressed in a blue silk coat, he took the opportunity to swipe the man's money purse as he did so.

"_Sorry!"_ he called to the felled man in the native tongue, before walking briskly away. He got no more than a few paces away when he realised that his own pocket felt much lighter than it should do. It took another few moments for him to realise that he had been robbed by the very man he himself had just robbed.

"Oi!" he called to the man who was approaching him, clearly they both realised that they had been robbed by the other. After six months living in Venice, Jack had learnt the language well enough to speak almost fluently, he had received lessons in the language previously, his grandfather was half-Italian and his grandmother had been born and raised in Venice before marrying Captain Teague. He had never thought about his heritage all that much, after all, he was raised in an environment rich with different cultures and full of a range of languages that flowed together to create a homey feel. But there was warmth in the knowledge of where he came from, that he was not without a past even though he lacked both a mother and a father.

The man in front of him had a wide smile on his face and he began to laugh _"it seems that we have each other's property!"_

Jack couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation "_so it does." _ The property was returned to its owner and the two thieves got to talking.

"_What's your name, boy_?" The man asked after a while

"Giacomo" he replied _"but everyone calls me _Jack."

This made the man laugh once more "_what an odd series of circumstances!"_ he said gleefully _"we attempt to rob one another and we bare the same name_!"

Jack found a friend in Giac, and found that they had led similar lives, both had been abandoned by their parents and both had sought their fortunes far from their homes.

Giac was a terrible flirt, he would never miss an opportunity to flirt with a woman, even if that meant leaning over a table whilst in the middle of a conversation. After a while Jack began to see him as the father that he never had and (although Jack didn't know it) Giac had begun to see Jack as his son.

A little while after he had turned thirteen, Jack's interests strayed from the delights of cheating tavern patrons out of their money and stealing from the pockets of the rich, to the sun-kissed faces of pretty women. When Giac had found out he had teased the boy greatly claiming that "his little boy" was growing up. Some good did come from being forced to endure Giac's shameless flirting- it was an excellent learning curve. Although he hadn't realised it, when talking to women he himself often employed the turn of phrases that Giac used and even sometimes copied his smiles, and adopted similar mannerisms, it made the awkward transition between ignoring girls completely and becoming enamoured with their beauty that much easier. (At least, he didn't freeze up when actually talking to a woman, and he could carry a conversation quite well).

Jack had stayed in Venice for almost a year, and the wanderlust had already caught up with him, he knew that he would miss the man he thought of as a father but he had to leave.

Giac had taken it well and wished him the best of luck on his travels, before presenting the boy with a brown leather money pouch, the very same one that Jack had attempted to steal upon their first meeting, the initials G.C were embroidered in golden cursive upon one side.

"I thought that it was an appropriate gift." Giac grinned

Jack's jaw dropped "You speak English."

"Yep, how's my accent?" he laughed at Jack's face "oh come on jack, it was terribly amusing to see you stumbling over Italian!"

Jack's response was to punch the man's shoulder before saying goodbye. He set out from Venice and paid for passage to Spain.

AN- As much as it pleases me to know that people have favourite'd this story and put it on alert, I would like some feedback. Please review.


	3. Pirate is in Your Blood

The sun rode high in the clouds, shrouded by the soft white blankets. Blinding azure blue was etched across the skies so vividly it seemed to be painted with as many shades of the colour as existed. A soft Mediterranean breeze sailed through the Spanish bay. Jack sat contemplatively upon a barrel of apples. After arriving in Spain Jack immediately found himself some lodgings for the night and had collapsed upon the bed, sleep finding him faster than ever before. He awoke to the light of the morning prickling his eyes and a smashing headache. For three weeks jack explored the new country, sampling the language, food and the very culture itself. But he felt something odd in his gut, a feeling that he had never felt before – homesickness. For all he had travelled he had only ever felt truly at home in the Caribbean. Jack would spend roughly a day and a night in one place before moving on, which is why he has surprised himself by his stay in Venice and now Spain.

Although he rarely admitted it to himself, jack knew that a desire for adventure was not the only reason that he had left the confines of the cove. Jack never wanted to be a pirate. He knew that despite his grandfather never speaking about him, that his father was a pirate. His father had abandoned his mother when she had been pregnant with his child. His father had abandoned him. Every day that jack had lived in the cove he saw both sides of piracy- the ones who did it out of necessity and those who truly enjoyed the murder. Jack didn't have the stomach for murder.

Jack knew that his grandfather was also a pirate, he also knew that his grandfather carried around the shrunken head of his grandmother (he never did learn how she died).  
The one thing that jack craved was freedom- the freedom to decide his own future, not a future that had been thrust upon him. So upon seeing that a ship was loading up barrels of supplies (a sign that the ship was leading away from Spain) jack scooped out a bunch of the apples from a barrel and climbed inside, closing the lid behind him. Admittedly had he known at the time that he was stowing away on Captain Eduardo Villanueva's ship, he might have reconsidered his decision.

On the second day into the voyage jack had been discovered by the captain himself. He was dragged by his throat by the captain unto the main deck and thrown against the mast (the captain's podgy hand still around his neck).

"Who are you?" growled the pirate lord, his Spanish accent thick "And what are you doing on my ship?" he squeezed tighter when jack made no move to answer. "Well? What is your name, boy?"

"T-Teague!" Jack choked out "Jack Teague!"

The captain dropped him on the deck. Jacks hands immediately rubbed his throat and started coughing.

"Teague? You the son of Captain James Teague then?" the man's beady eyed lit up gleefully with a hidden agenda.

"N-no, grandson." Jack coughed

If possible the portentous man's smile grew wider. Captain Villanueva offered Jack a place on the ship, initially jack tried to refuse but after several pistols were pointed and cocked in his general direction he plastered a fake smile on his face and accepted.

Eduardo Villanueva was a stout man with more belly than he had height, but his visage was still intimidating. He wore rich clothing made from embroidered cloth, which despite the dirt that seemed permanently ingrained in it, showed just how successful a pirate he was.

The next few months aboard _The Centurion_ were a living hell. Jack was forced to work as a _powder monkey_- perhaps one of the most dangerous jobs on a ship, he would load the cannons during raids on ships and more often than not he would be hit by the cannon as it recoiled. He would clean the cannons and scrub the armoury; pieces of shrapnel from the opposing ships would often find itself imbedded in Jack's skin. Bit by bit Jack became angry and bitter, his hopes and dreams of freedom and adventure were crushed by the reality of his situation- Somehow his old life didn't seem all that bad.

It was on the second month of his service and the twenty- sixth raid that Jack began to feel hope again. The ship had been over-run by a group of rival pirates who despite their inferiority in skill had far superior numbers than their own. Jack had run from the armoury, hoping to steal a longboat and escape when he came upon his old sword lying on the floor, the sword that had been stolen from him upon his arrival. He grinned and snatched it up before continuing on to the deck.

There were pirates everywhere. In the commotion of the fight all of the longboats had been destroyed. Jack felt a sudden surge of fury, an anger he had never felt before urged him into the fray. He fought artfully, utterly annihilating his enemies, his bid for freedom had been dashed by these cowards. Jack parried and slashed and jumped from object to objet in his crusade, at one point he grabbed the rigging in one hand and used in as leverage to swing his body so that his boot implanted itself into the nose of an opposing pirate. Jack's movements were erratic and fuelled on adrenalin; he seemed oblivious to anything other than the rage burning through his blood and the sword in his hand. It was then that Jack became a murderer at thirteen. When the fight was over, Jack stood in the middle of the deck surrounded by the corpses of his enemies and covered in their blood. He promptly hunched over and vomited.

The crew of _The Centurion_ stood frozen and staring at the bloodstained teenager; he stood up and wiped his mouth, turning his glare to the pirates, griping his sword tighter. His dark hair matted with blood seemed even darker and his hazel eyes appeared to be dark brown with rage. The connection between father and son had never seemed so clear then at that moment. The crew of 'the centurion' had heard tales of the infamous pirate Jack Sparrow, and all of the supposedly impossible things that he had done, but one look at his son, a boy that they had press-ganged into joining their crew, in his full fury after having cut down more than a dozen pirates, they had never been more terrified.

Jack left _The Centurion_ with a generous amount of gold in his pocket and had made his way back to the Caribbean by paying passage to a merchant ship. An exchange of a few coins left Jack with a boat, a small boat mind you, but a boat none- the –less. Jack docked the small boat in the bay of the island of_ Tortuga_.

Will turner focussed on the sword he was crafting, each hit he delivered to the glowing metal served as a momentary distraction to his thoughts. Captain James Norrington was quite smitten with Elizabeth Swan, and despite his understanding of his place in society Will couldn't help but admit to himself that he was in love with the governor's daughter as well. Jealousy surged through him, as well as an irrational hate for Captain Norrington. He knew that his affections were misplaced and could certainly never be returned, but a small part of him yearned to indulge in the fantasy that one day, she would love him too.

Ever since the day she had assured him that she was watching over him, Elizabeth would always have the uncanny ability to calm him. Whenever he chanced to talk to her in the street, her smile, her laugh would always be able to distract him from the reality of his station in life, from his worries of the future and away from the fact that he had not found his father.

What worried him was that Miss Swan was nearly nineteen years of age, and had still not married, something that was almost disgraceful in her circle of society, he knew that from now on there would be a hurry to find the young woman a suitor, and eventually she would marry, leaving her unable to even speak to Will anymore, and at the moment all the evidence pointed to her becoming the future Mrs. James Norrington. Will beat the steel harder and watched as the glow slowly faded and became the correct shape.

AN- Please review this story if you are reading it, constructive criticism is welcome.


End file.
